


Kill of the Night Part 2

by forwhenmybrainhurts



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Jazz - Freeform, Knifeplay, M/M, Magic, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Original Character Death(s), Swearing, Urban Magic Yogs, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwhenmybrainhurts/pseuds/forwhenmybrainhurts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I finished it off, albeit a while after posting the first part. Read that first, even if it's just to refresh your memory!<br/>Any comments very gratefully received.</p>
<p>Inspired by Gin Wilmore's song, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGju9VaQuyg">Kill of the Night</a>, and by the amazing works for the Urban Magic Yogs AU, some canon from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/173777">threeplusfire's</a> works.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3072062">Part 1</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill of the Night Part 2

“Now you’re mine,  
But what do I do with you, boy?  
I’ll take your heart,  
to kick around as a toy.”  
Smith could feel the pure magic licking its flames, and he let himself get drunk on it. It was the reason he would make this happen so often. He’d become the most important thing in the world to someone of his own choosing, to the point where they would let themselves die. Of course that thrill was addictive, and nothing could come close it.  
Being at home was a different sort of wonderful. Who knows where the kelpie would be without the sanctuary of that building and its occupants? The high of magic would only last so long each time. Smith could draw it out, but then the point of it would be lost. It would get boring, or at least diminish the delight of it all.  
Whilst nothing made him feel as powerful as the magic, it was always a relief to come home. He spotted his friends leaving the club, but he didn’t feel anything. Right now, Smith was only thinking of one thing.  
“This is a bad town,  
for such a pretty face.”

Trott said nothing on the walk home. The other two had noticed, but thought it best to wait until they were inside, in front of a lit fire, with mulled wine in their mugs, before questioning him.

“I’d just planned things differently,” Trott explained, holding the rim of the mug just below his lip. The cinnamon soothed his annoyance. Ross’ shoulder rub was helping too, of course. “He always manages to fuck something up,” the selkie grumbled, picturing Smith having the time of his life, when he should still be feeling the reins.  
“You did enough,” Sips said plainly. “He knows where he belongs, and he knows what it means.”  
Trott sighed and nodded his head. He took a sip of the wine, and felt it trickle through him. Coupled with the small kisses Ross had started to plant on the back of his neck, he relaxed.  
“You didn’t exactly do much to stop him. In fact, you were smiling,” Ross breathed his words into Trott’s hair, and send tingles down his spine.  
There was nothing to be done about it now, anyway. Trott coughed a small laugh, and mumbled agreement.  
“He’s so hot, I can’t stand it,” he admitted.  
Letting out a low groan of approval, Ross sank into Trott’s shoulder, and tasted his skin.  
“Oh fuck me, when he puts on that stuff,” Sips started, gazing at a blank space on the wall. He turned to his housemates to continue. “I mean, you can see the magic, if you let yourself, but I just love watching the people he’s working on. They fall apart.”  
Trott took another sip of the wine, and grinned uncontrollably. “Then you think to yourself, ‘that’s mine!’”  
They laughed together, the warmth from the environment, and from the love between them all - including the one that was absent - filling them up enough to place mugs on the coffee table, and entwine limbs.

Smith had gone to sit with Walden as soon as he had left the stage. The young, blonde haired man had looked so unsure at first, but his expression quickly smoothed into lust.  
“You are brilliant,” he breathed, once he had found his voice.  
“Thank you,” the kelpie replied, taking in more of Walden’s features now that he was closer. The man’s hair looked thick, and Smith imagined holding it between his fingers. There was short stubble on his face, and the hint of a tattoo at his wrist.  
“No, I mean it. Why haven’t I seen you before?” Walden looked utterly dumbfounded at this question, as if he somehow should have known of Smith’s existence since the day he was born, and followed him anywhere he’d ever been.  
Smith smiled at the expression. I was familiar. His charm meant that the seduced party felt as if something had been long missing from their lives before they’d met him. It caused him to glow even more.  
“I’m from out of town,” was the short reply. Nothing else would be needed. The man wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t even enquire Smith’s name. It was unimportant in this meeting between them. The only thing that mattered to him was being part of Smith’s world for as long as he was alive. Even then, Walden knew they’d be together after death. Their bond was too strong.  
It was as if Walden wasn’t even listening to Smith’s answer, the glazed look in his eyes absorbing the kelpie from head to toe. Smith chewed his bottom lip, in anticipation of the next step.  
“Would you like to go somewhere else?” He asked, and Walden’s eyes widened into joy.  
“Yes,” he replied.

The jazz music hadn’t stopped after the three other housemates had arrived home. The radio had been left on, filling the building with its energy, and it added to the coziness. The music wafted through to the living room, where they were huddled on the sofa, echoing slight distortion off the walls of the kitchen and hallway.  
Ross was still sitting behind Trott, still breathing him in, and planting kisses on his neck, albeit with more intent, as he listened to the selkie and his king murmur loving groans onto each others lips as they kissed.  
It was as if no one had to say what was needed that evening. Trott relaxed into the welcome touches of his best friends, and let them take control. Even if he felt most comfortable being the one to dictate, it was refreshing to let someone else have the power.  
Ross ran his hands round to the front of Trott’s shirt and started undoing the buttons. As soon as he could, he slipped one of this hands inside, and over Trott’s chest and stomach.  
His touch caused the selkie’s breath to hitch, as his body reacted sharply. The gargoyle was warm, thanks to the atmosphere around them, so the breath came out as an appreciative sigh, which caused Sips to lean back into the cushions of the sofa to see more of what was going on.  
Trott’s eyes grinned wickedly back at him, as he reached out to touch the front of his king’s underwear.  
Sips gasped, “Now Trott, I must warn you that I’m feeling as though this won’t take me very long.”  
Trott laughed, and Ross smiled into his shoulder. “That’s fine. We don’t have to move anywhere, in that case.”  
“Well, you might, sweetheart. I’d quite like to see you on the floor in front of me, to be honest.”  
Another contented smile from the selkie, and he got up to stand in front of Sips, his shirt still covering his shoulders and back, but nothing else.  
“I was thinking that you should discard all of your clothes, Trott, but I kind of want you to keep your shirt on. It’s pretty hot.”  
Trott’s eyebrows twitched in wordless agreement, before he unbuttoned his jeans and removed them, along with his own boxers.  
"As much as I like the front, I'm enjoying being behind you," Ross growled, his full meaning realised straight away. He got up and resumed his position, tracing the palms of his hands over Trott's torso. Of course, the gargoyle had undressed as soon as they had entered the house. The selkie moaned unashamedly, and rolled his head back to nestle on the gargoyle's chest. He could feel the growing response of Ross against his backside, and a sigh beside his ear.  
“That’s really nice,” Sips complemented. It wasn’t the most lavish of sentences, but then Sips was never one for drawing out his meaning. The drawly tone said more than his words ever would.  
Trott opened his eyes to look back at the king, and could see the tension in his underwear. It was also plainly obvious how hard Sips was trying to not touch himself; fists clenched either side of him, and thighs twitching.  
Ross was aware of the display he was putting on, and it fuelled him into moving his palms lower and lower down the selkie’s body, until he reached the very bottom of his torso.  
Trott shuddered in anticipation of a touch which didn’t come. Instead, the gargoyle stroked his hands all around his growing cock, not once placing a finger on it. It made him groan in protest, yet it felt all kinds of good, turning his legs numb.  
“Oh my gods,” Sips murmured, part surprised and part needing.  
Ross looked at him then, and an unspoken agreement passed.  
“Get on your knees, Trott. Gods damn it,” Sips thought about removing his boxers, but as soon as the selkie looked up at him from his kneeling position, he knew it would be so worth it to wait a little longer. Trott had an expression that Sips had not seen for a long time. It was happiness, contentedness, and he looked far younger. There was nothing for it; Sips reached out and stroked the selkie’s face. Trott moved into the touch and smiled again.  
Ross’ soul fluttered. It was wonderful to see affection between the two of them anyway, but it was even more so since they’d had a strained few weeks.  
Before another word was uttered, Trott placed his fingers around the band of Sips’ fantastic underwear and pulled them off, his eyes swimming with joy, which Sips could only smile at. His head threw itself back into the cushions behind him, as Trott expertly took his king into his mouth.  
Tracing his tongue and lips around, Trott heard Ross settle down behind him. The prickle of expectation forced a moan in his throat, which sparked a chain reaction through Sips.  
Ross started gently, running his hands over Trott’s back, under the shirt he was still wearing, and caressing his hips and backside, moving ever closer to where he really wanted to be, but savouring it as much as he could. It was such a treat to see Trott like this in front of him. He would glance at Sips now and then, that unspoken language between them ever present and amusing.  
A wave of hunger came over the gargoyle, and he had to grab the skin underneath his hands. Trott let go of Sips, and cried out; but not in pain. He moaned again, when he felt the hardness of Ross trace the sensitive skin in the cleft of his behind, towards his tail bone. There was a small pause as Ross pulled away, and Trott licked his lips, waiting for the question.  
“Ready?”  
A single nod said “Yes,” and a pause followed by heavy breaths signified the soothing feel of wet fingers teasing him.  
Sips was sunken into the fabric of the sofa, watching the expressions of the faces in front of him. Trott was concentrating, welcoming and warming to Ross’ touch. The gargoyles lips were flushed with desire, those stunning eyes flicking from what he was doing, back up to his king. He looked wonderful, as if he were begging for approval. Sips gave it to him, by nodding slowly.  
He couldn’t stand it. “Fuck him already,” the king growled.  
Ross’ aquamarine eyes caught the light from the candles even more than usual, and the habitually unshakeable Sips had to chew his bottom lip. His attention was then drawn to Trott’s grip on his hips, which had tightened a little, as the selkie looked over his shoulder at the shimmering blue of the gargoyle.  
The two looked at each other deeply, and Ross moved forward. The grip was more forceful still, and Sips shifted his position, the throbbing in his abdomen becoming almost uncomfortable.  
Trott relaxed to get accustomed to Ross inside him, and his grip had left marks on his king’s hips. He heaved a hefty gasp, as he helped Ross judge when the best time was to move.  
Ross felt Trott ease, and chewed at his lips to stop himself thrusting too early. The pulsing in his body was enough to stutter his breathing, and little puffs would pass out of his mouth sporadically.  
He implored at Trott to allow him to fuck, and the selkie grinned wildly. “Yeah,” he answered, and Ross moaned blissfully as he moved inside his friend.  
“Holy shit,” was the next comment from Sips, as he watched the gargoyle gleam, and the selkie express his commendation, by closing his eyes, letting out moans of pleasure and gripping tightly once again. It took everything in him to not carry on where Trott had left off.  
“Trott, you are going to have to suck my dick again.” Trott’s eyes opened wide, and he did as he was commanded.  
Ross scooped one of his hands round to Trott’s front. It didn’t take long to get glorious feedback from the selkie’s body and voice, as he stroked and fucked at a steady pace.  
As promised, Sips was the first to come. He watched Ross fuck with intent, his features creasing now and then as another wave of delight washed over him, and felt Trott’s tongue flick over the sensitive tip of his cock, his hand making perfect strokes.  
With a guttural “Oh, Gods!” the king grasped Trott’s hair.  
The selkie was prepared, and wrapped his mouth around Sips to take all of the climax. The jazz music was drowned by expletives painting the walls, and Ross watched his king gape wide-eyed at the high ceiling. He couldn’t help himself, and fucked harder, the groans from his throat becoming louder.  
Trott swallowed the come on his tongue, and Sips ran fingers through his hair, as he felt the gargoyle’s movements become more and more erratic at the promise of orgasm. Ross’ hand left Trott’s own cock, to hold onto the selkie’s hips at either side, but not before he had reached to take one of Trott’s hands and replace it.  
Now able to control the rhythm, Trott lost himself in the satisfaction of the evening, and could feel his own orgasm start building in the base of his spine.  
Sips thought of the Persian rug below, and handed Trott some tissues. The king continued to watch, as firstly Ross came with a shudder, the glass reflections bouncing around the room, then Trott, who had leaned back into Ross’ arms as soon as he had pulled out, blaspheming the sky gods’ names.  
They didn’t move for a while, rather held on to the other worldly moment, where there was nothing else to think about.  
No words were spoken, just small grunts of satisfaction now and then, until Trott complained that his leg was starting to fall asleep in his kneeling position. They each moved to the bedroom to sleep, jazz still swimming effortlessly through the air, and for the first time in months, the selkie dreamed.

The young man named Walden died in undignified fashion, at the back of the row of tall buildings, amongst the bins.  
His denim had been cut crudely from him; he hadn't protested for one moment. Not even when the knife was run slowly over his shoulder and down his torso. The pain was the most wonderful feeling he'd ever felt.  
He had wanted to please the man who was holding the knife, so he begged for more.  
Smith hadn't intended for it to get as gruesome as it had. The body was covered in lacerations; the ones he had administered, after moans of pleasure encouraged him to test how far it would go. The man’s stunning body art wasn’t slashed, Smith instead twisted the tip of the knife around the pictures and patterns on Walden’s arm, and the both watched the streaks of blood run over it all.  
The kelpie's clothes were sodden with blood before he'd even undone his jeans. Once he had, however, Walden hadn't needed any guidance. The intoxicated mortal pulled Smith to him and wrapped a leg round his waist. Cries of pleasure and pain clashed in the same way as the spots of Walden’s blood mixed with the pure snow freshly fallen that afternoon, as their bodies moved fervently together, Smith mostly clothed and Walden bare.  
Smith cocked his head, inquisitively, as he stared at the scene in front of him. His warm breath billowed, creating a screen between it and himself, almost causing it to be unreal, and for a moment the ugliness didn't matter any more.  
Walden had collapsed sideways once he'd drowned, the saturated skin only helping the blood to flow further, and a trickle of water poured over his still soft lips. His eyes were open, carrying the look of bliss. He had died exactly how he wanted in that moment.  
Back to reality, Smith couldn't leave the body where it was. Not because of who might find it, or what would happen once it had been found, but because the blood and decaying flesh would attract rats, and anyone deserved more than that. Besides, there was always a cleansing ritual to do, to stop any _thing_ coming to the kelpie with revenge on its mind.  
Smith said the words he hadn't spoken for a long while, and the body was sent to the riverbed, adorned with weeds. He watched Walden's face disappear, and ran his fingers through his auburn hair, satisfied.  
Exhaustion enveloped him, but he wanted to make a trip.  
Smith burned a collection of herbs from his pocket, and it soothed his head. The embers decorated the tiny plumes of aromatic smoke, as they sat to the side of the kelpie. He was sitting cross-legged on the window seat of an upstairs room in an abandoned house at the top of a hill overlooking the whole city. No one had lived here for at least a decade, apart from the Garbage Court, some four years ago. Trott had decided the gorgeous building was too far away from business, which Smith agreed to, but it didn’t stop him coming back to the room he loved most. Trott had claimed the master bedroom, but the two of them often sat together in the very same spot, burning various plants now and then.  
Looking to his left, Smith suddenly missed his friends. Maybe they could have a big party up here one day, have a big celebration, and get rid of the hollow feeling Smith had about the place, now he was sitting there alone.  
He didn’t sleep, but stayed there for hours, until the sun rose to shoot beams over the roofs, and through leaves of trees. The front garden of the house was a wilderness, but Smith picked his way through it, slowly, restocking his pockets with flowers, weeds and herbs to take back as a peace offering.


End file.
